


To Dance with the Devil (By Your Side)

by PeroxidePrincess (thedisasternerd)



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: ...are you still reading all of that?, Don't Judge, Established Relationship, FML, I'm Going to Hell, I'm ashamed, I'm going to hell via the fast lane and Russia hasn't got low speed limits, I'm scared of typing in the actual term for it, Idk what the backstory is and I'm the author, In the sense that he teases Pete to actual overdrive, JK but seriously, Light Bondage, M/M, Meh, My First Smut, Okay No, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Oxymorons, Patrick is kinda a power bottom, Pete tops go away, Please Don't Hate Me, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Promises - Freeform, Shameless Smut, Smut, So much smut, So..., You Have Been Warned, a study of the senses (sorta), ahahahaa...., alternate universe...maybe?, ayy it's smut everyone's gonna read it because it defiles and preserves us, butt stuff, demonic promises?, devils? - Freeform, go away, i sing in a christian choir im not even kidding, it's basically two ribbons fuck off, juxtapositions, like reeeaaally light, my plot developed porn and ran away, nervous laughter, obscure hints, please note the 'tongues AND butts' - more like 'in butts', possessive pete, shouldn't have taken english lit, so many of them ahhhh, sorry if you're still reading all of this, this is weird af, tongues and butts and ew, uncultured Patrick tops scum, what?, why did I tag all that?, you decide?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-06 10:05:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15883866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisasternerd/pseuds/PeroxidePrincess
Summary: Pete, Patrick, suits, cologne, bets and flirting = smut.Plus a half-study on the senses.˜"You win," he states - an innocent two word phrase ; the jutting hip, cocky head-tilt and sultry undertone, however, are not.And his eyes - oh, those now green, now iron-blue, then ocean-sparkle eyes : they hold promises of strawberry tinted porcelain, smooth and delectable, shattered moans and curses, sighs hot and heavy like the Southern night. The vanilla oozing off of him is so thick that it is almost tangible.Pete smirks, nostrils flaring like a predator's, scenting, smelling, marking out his prey - tonight, his inner beast will feast on sweet delicacies only it gets.





	To Dance with the Devil (By Your Side)

**Author's Note:**

> Smut....  
> *cringes*  
> I've never posted it before, and I'm a teenage girl, but personally, I don't think it's too bad...  
> Fuck it, this is literal shit, so happy happy me (is it bad that suits are kinda my kink..? Fuck, shouldn't have said that).  
> But it's smut, and us dirty, dirty fangirls'll read it anyway, so.  
> Practically unedited, as I'm a lazy biatch.  
> Hope you enjoy!

 "Remind me why we're doing this?" Pete groans, sprawled on the the satin sheets of their luxurious apartment, watching a half-naked Patrick sift through suits - a spectacle much more interesting than the mandatory attendance of meeting a congregation of powdered idiots and much more...promising...

"Publicity," the younger man chimes "We have to be out in about half an hour, I suggest you start getting ready, Wentz." 

 Pete groans again, idly thinking about Patrick's hips in a suit and trying not to salivate at the thought as he rolls off the bed with a heavy thud, watching Patrick disappear into the bathroom to get changed.

* * *

 

He fiddles around with the buttons on his tux, dumping a generous amount of cologne on himself - Patrick seems to like it that way - and knocks with faux-politeness on the bathroom door, going in without getting an answer.

Patrick is, as usual, gorgeous. The blue suit he loves so much -and for a good reason - flares around his succulent hips as he shifts in front of the mirror, delicate fingers snapping the bow-tie into place, everything about him crisp and clean and meticulous, just waiting to be defiled, crumpled, left to sag on the floor next to the bed -

Pete doesn't realise his mouth has actually started to water until Patrick steps towards him with a knowing smirk, wiping at the corner of the older man's mouth, making Pete shiver with the unspoken promises in that simple gesture.

"Feral," Patrick says coyly "Do you like it?"

He twirls in front of the taller man like he doesn't know Pete wants to fucking sink his teeth into him, mark him out, chew him up and savour his taste.

Two can play a game.

"I think I'd prefer it on the floor." Pete smirks.

But Patrick is determined to drive Pete fucking wild.

"Nuh-uh, Petey," he leans forward to whisper in Pete's ear, and the older man nips at his neck, the familiar vanilla overlaid by a darker, exotic tang, invading Pete's nostrils and up into his brain, clouding reason as he groans and attempts to get his arms round the younger man. Patrick pushes him away, batting his eyelashes as he, as usual, reads Pete's mind.

"The ladies love the exotic," he purrs silkily, skipping out of Pete's range like a lamb out of a wolf's teeth "Especially when that exotic flirts with them." he winks, and Pete...Pete is gonna fucking _wreck_ him, mark him, claim him, let him know just to who he belongs, fucking _punish_ him for flirting, for his infidelity.

He says his thoughts out loud, the inebriating scent clouding his mind like a drug, taking away inhibitions.

Patrick simply arches an eyebrow, challenging, but his eyes are dark, pupils blown.

"How about this, Panda," he says, eyes glinting devilishly "My body... _I_ will be yours for the taking this night if..." he pauses, licking his lips "If you manage to keep your hands, your gaze, your words, _yourself_ off me."

The Pete's growing smirk turns into something truly demonic - Patrick mirrors it, but Pete can see the hot, burning want - no _need_ \- under the cool blue-grey that his eyes are in the stark light of the mirror's light, see it roil and coil like twisting snakes of pure sin, nothing like the bright, innocent light they shine with when they stagger, hand in hand, drunk on love, down sunlit streets and crashing waves on equally pure white beaches.

Pete licks his lips, tongue flicking out to taste the air, the scent Patrick's exhuding like some animal in heat, irresistable to the predator who lusts after it.

"Deal."

* * *

Of course, Pete wins, like he always does when he's hunting his prey - Patrick.

In all honesty, he doesn't quite know how, though.

Patrick had been quite the star of the evening.

As soon as they had stepped through security, a gaggle of young actresses, muscicians and various celebrities had surrounded him, and he was gone with a wink, eyes serpentine-green in the mellow lighting, flickering and greedy like the reptile whose colour they possessed.

Pete had his own little group - how could he not? They filed in, one after the other, sizing him up like a piece of meat to satisfy them for an hour or two, before finding that the tan god of their dreams wasn't quite to their taste - too dark, perhaps, too richly scented; too small, maybe, for others.

He passes each one with a wolfish smile and a wirlwind of musky cologne that he knows attracts them - and Patrick, always Patrick, only Patrick - like moths to a light, like flies to sticky, sweet honey, seductive and tempting, speaking tales of velvet and debauchery tht dare not find the light of day. He feels Patrick's gaze on his back, burning, ravishing, hungry. But every time Pete risks a stolen glance, he sees the same: pretty, dainty little butterflies, flocking for a scent of the exotic flower, the dulcet overtones irresistable, smoky undertones whispering sweet everything and yet nothings, pleasure heady, sugar-sticky, clinging, overpowering - but fleeting, floating, dark and swirling and then oxygen pure, gone with the wind that sweeps up the shattered yet unbroken promises, the aftermath of the all-consuming fire.

It's hard for Pete to not shoulder aside these weak creatures, coil himself around this satin rose, become its thorns, claim it unclaimable and therefore make it his, yet alone for all to see. He wants the world to know that ebony and ivory fit together like the keys on a piano, melodic and slotting perfectly together, coated with that smooth, varnish that attracts so many and protects them from the prying fingers. He _needs_ the world to know that the swirling, exotic smoke of insence and the dark musk of the wild collide and cling to each other, overpowering, sweet and heady, to become something so primeval, something born from the material of the universe, the compelling majesty of the dark velvet of the night.

_Pete wants._

* * *

 

Finally, fucking finally, it's over.

Patrick saunters over, hips swinging, lips pretty, full and pink, curved up into a smirk;eyes all glitter, the glitter of gloaming draconic hoards.

 "You win," he states - an innocent two word phrase ; the jutting hip, cocky head-tilt and sultry undertone, however, are not.

And his eyes - oh, those now green, now iron-blue, then ocean-sparkle eyes : they hold promises of strawberry tinted porcelain, smooth and delectable, shattered moans and curses, sighs hot and heavy like the Southern night. The vanilla oozing off of him is so thick that it is almost tangible.

Pete smirks, nostrils flaring like a predator's, scenting, smelling, marking out his prey - tonight, his inner beast will feast on sweet delicacies only he gets.

Patrick's cool demeanor falters as they stumble into the apartment.

Pete's senses are completely flooded as Patrick backs them onto the bed, straddling the older man.

But Pete pushes him off.

"You promised." he states "I want a show, c'mon babe."

Patrick pouts, but backs up, standing, getting ready to show something only Pete gets to see.

Pale fingers snap open a bow-tie, leaving it hanging in a ridicuously attractive way - then again, what about Patrick isn't? Navy blue slides down, pooling on the floor like the heat in Pete's lower abdomen. Slender white is stark against twilight, twirling, unbuttoning to reveal more porcelain. The next item is discarded to fuel the fire beginning to consume the older man, dark sky sliding down creamy skin that Pete itches to taste, sugary fluff he wants to lick off until he sees the pulsating rawness, bruised, marked, claimed and exposed.

Pete can't wait. He rips off his own jacket and shirt - dark like his desires - and peels off the slacks, watching Patrick do the same. He pulls the younger man forward, the satin fake underneath nothing like the satin pure on top, the defiled, well-known rustling nothng to the breathy little pants, new every time, the the rough static crackling of their innermost outside sliding together, the groans rumbling unbidden through his chest always followed by a whine.

He flips them over, the vanilla clouding his mind, the strangled whimper stirring the heat inside him as he slides his hands all over the soft, pale skin. The small folds of flesh pass like through his fingers like silken sand as they make their way to knead the mouthwatering flesh behind and under. His mouth finds petal-soft lips, swiping the sinful sounds off them before traveling down, lapping up the salt from a white and glistening neck down to a flushed chest, until he finds pink buds to suck - the symphony of musical sounds grows, a huge crescendo of glittering melody.

Pete's chromesthesia kicks in - the dark crimson bubbles of shadowed ruby sin, tinted gold like coins. They rain down on him, and he hoards them, each one uniquely minted by him from the same material, the one quivering beneath him. _His_ actions make each one, each one different because of _his_ choice of how to use all this rawness underneath him.

"Please," Patrick chokes out, barely a whisper - all the cool teasing gone long ago: he's raw, wanting, completely in Pete's control "Need you."

"Need my what?" Pete taunts, teeth grazing hypersensetive skin and earning him a muffled _mnh!_ "Need my what _where_?"

He nips a quivering, delectable thigh, and Patrick moans as his mouth travels upupupup to a high-pitched whimper. The older man chuckles, skirting round and biting down on a sharp hip-bone.

"Here?" he asks, and Patrick shakes his head frantically.

"We had a bet, 'Tricky..." Pete reminds him "Let me do what _I_ want, hmm? And I..." he pauses, tongue passing over his lips, staring, predatory, into blown pupils, so wide that there's only a sliver of blue around them "Am gonna make you scream, baby."

The younger man doesn't respond, but his whole body shudders, resistance leaving him.

"Good boy," Pete teases, and an eye snaps open, pride joining the writhing mass of sin. Pete just smirks, sliding off the smaller man, who makes an impatient whine- until he sees what Pete went after.

Two black, velvet ribbons.

Patrick opens and closes his mouth a few times, the sight shearing through the hazy cloud of lust in his mind.

"Okay," he chokes out, eying the fabric as Pete crawls back over "G-good-bye to my dignity, but holy fuck, okay."

The older man just grins as he loops the two contrasting colours to the bed-post, and sits back to admire.

Patrick yanks at them, and groans, a rich, decadent thrum that reverberates through the other man, going straight to the place where most of the blood in his body is concentrated right now. Pete fists his hand loosely around himself, moaning at the feeling, hot and coiled taut in his lower abdomen, drawing tighter and tighter, liquid fire coursing through his veins, pleasure sparking and fizzing up his nerves, addling his brain with the shock.

Patrick, meanwhile, hisses and moans like _he's_ the one getting touched, making Pete focus on him, wolfish. He crawls forward, and places a hand on Patrick's hip, dark on glowing white, spiralling ink against untouched canvas. Patrick bites his lip, legs slowly spreading apart in an invitation Pete doesn't take, straining against the bonds so he can relinquish the burning pain of pleasure.

Pete teases - slides his hand up, brushing a softly concentrated nipple - and hips twitch up off the mattress, justified by a whine. He splays his hand over ethereal, snow-white, practically glowing skin, then trails it down until his fingers brush into hollows flanked by hip-bones, down until-

Patrick's whole body cants up with an obscene, sinful moan. Pete strokes him idly, watching Patrick writhe and struggle beneath him, marveling at what torture simple touches - _words_ alone - could bring - his own...problem is getting difficult to ignore.

He settles between spread legs, and the hitch in the younger man's breath indicates that he thinks he knows what's going to happen.

Well, he's wrong.

Pete pushes Patrick's legs up and apart, before stuffing a pillow under them, earning him a surprised 'huh?' and licks a long, langurous stripe down into tight, not yet wet, heat.

Patrick's mouth is a perfect 'o' of surprise - and pleasure - his wrists yanking at the bindings as his fingers clench and unclench deliriously; Pete has half a mind to untie him, feel the sharp tugs in his hair as the man below keels over and keens in pleasure.

Instead, he licks, sucks, bites, tasting the bitter-sweet flesh, And just as Patrick's noises, rolling over and drowning him like a tidal wave, sparkling, rich, begin to creep to the higher end of his vocal range, Pete pulls off, his own dick throbbing as Patrick twitches and squirms, rubbing his thighs together to create some sort of friction.

"Suck." Pete commands, three fingers presented to the younger man. He complies, cheeks hollowing, tongue dancing over them. The bottle of lube lies forgotten on the floor - Pete wants it raw, hot and rough, wants, _needs_ to fuck Patrick into the next week (month, preferrably), needs to make Patrick scream primeval unadulterated lust.

Once he figures they're slick enough, he pulls his fingers out, trails them down, just brushing Patrick and making him moan, loud and long. The younger man's entrance is carefully circled, swollen flesh intruded upon, the _hotwettight_ making Pete groan and Patrick moan and clench. Well-practised fingers find _it,_ and the continuous, almost fluid moans trckling and dripping from that lecherous mouth swell into something inhuman - a melded wail of _'please fuck Pete NOW!'_ rolling off a sinful tongue.

Heat courses through Pete's body, melting him into a creature of one substance, one mind, one goal - he's burning in a demonic fire of his creation, Hellish in a way, rough and burning as he lines up and thrusts in. He's going to a blazing afterlife of his choice - and he's taking Patrick with him.

Patrick is sobbing on every crash of a dark wave of all-encompassing pleasure, every muscle in his body taut, all nerves combusted on an overload of pleasure. But he's not screaming, no, not yet. Pete, in some sadomasochistic way, wants that fluid river of sound to flood and drown him when _he_ bursts the dam, set the constraints on this wild pleasure free. It almost happens, but out of _his_ control - he changes the angle just right, and Patrick's whole body locks - frozen, mouth open, eyes glazing over. But Pete - Pete's sadism of sorts during sex is not so much of a streak as his defining characterisitc. And Patrick keeps his promises - if only the ones he gave to Pete, the one of utter submittance. So when Pete chokes out "Don't come.", he doesn't - seperated, he falls from Cloud Nine when it was just in his reach, trembling and pleading.

"You gonna come untouched?" Pete taunts - fuck, he's going to make Patrick fall from fucking Heaven right back to the Earth so hard he'll be senseless, and changes the speed, slamming in and watching Patrick arch and wail "Like a teenager? Pathetic."

Patrick writhes, incoherent pleas tumbling from his mouth, head thrashing from side to side.

Pete takes mercy.

"On 20, baby." Patrick's eyes are a mixture of fear and relief.

Pete somehow manages to speed his hips up even more, and holy shit, are Patrick's eyes fucking _rolling back into his head_  as his own hips rise to meet Pete mid-way, impaling him deeper than physically possible.

"10...9..." Patrick's writhing, the fire within him pulsing, tearing out in the form of a hot blush, spiralling down...down...

"4...3..." Pete's not sure he's going to last long enough to completely wreck Patrick

"2...1..."

Patrick's been holding off for so long that when he does come, it's after a few seconds and Pete's still slamming into him. The younger man's entire _being_ starts to combust and shut down from the complete and utter overload of 'fuck'. He screams, fucking screams, high, loud and long. He barely manages a choked out "Pete...too much..." and his head flops back, barely conscious.

Pete slams in one last time, and everything explodes, his body out of control as he slumps on top of Patrick, twitching as he comes down from his high, everything fuzzy and tinted white with pleasure, light-headed, the vanilla scent smoking out every functioning cell in his brain.

Once he's more or less restored some motor-control, he rolls off Patrick, arms dead weights as they circle Patrick, pulling him close and smearing the mess. Patrick's limp hands tuck around Pete, eyelashes fluttering and sending sparks across Pete's hyper-sensitive skin.

"Love you forever." Pete whispers, and just before everything goes black he hears an answer.

_"I love you too, Pete. Forever."_

* * *

 

_The dance is over._

_The Devil has one, and lost at the same time._

_The Devil doesn't like to keep his promises, but for once, he does._

 

 

_For Pete, only for Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III, does Patrick keep his promises._

_They are engraved into rings: rings on their fingers, matching round targets on their hearts, nooses around their souls, tying them together, forever._

 

 

 _-_ fin.

 

**Author's Note:**

> *internal screaming*  
> did I actually...just write that?  
> *more internal screaming*  
> I feel like this fic was just me venting my filth and simultaneously avoiding the use of the words "dick" (and its variations) "ass" and "nipple".  
> I also think I went a bit...too...far...for my first smut, but eh, it's done now.  
> *laughs nervously*  
> Is this an AU?  
> Is Patrick back to Devil!Trick?  
> I don't know (literally), so you decide!  
> Hope this wasn't too cringey and awful  
> ((praying to the Gods that my family don't find this))  
> -21


End file.
